Chapter One
Kate Hamilton stared at her Uncle Owen’s face. She was barely able to recognize him, resting there against the slick satin of his coffin pillow.
Somehow, the funeral director had molded and painted her uncle’s features into a pleasant, peaceful expression. There had never been anything pleasant or peaceful about this man in life.
Everyone in Scarborough would agree that Owen Jenkins was one of the most cantankerous and disagreeable people that God had ever created.
But her aunt, Emma Jenkins, told stories about how Uncle Owen hadn’t always been that way. She said that before he left for Vietnam, Owen was charming and gentle-hearted. No one but Aunt Emma could remember that far back in his history. Over the last fifty years, all his meanness had robbed the town of the happier memories of him. Uncle Owen had been the official town curmudgeon.
And now, no one cared that he was dead.
“I’m not expecting anyone to stop by tonight.” Aunt Emma turned a page of her library book.
“What about from the church?” Kate asked.
Aunt Emma didn’t look up from her book. “Not for paying their last respects. I imagine they’ll come to the funeral tomorrow. The paper said I hired Maggie May’s for the catering. People will want to get out of the house, get something free to eat, and to gossip. I don’t expect a crowd, but it won’t be empty neither.”
“Surely, your friends will be there to support you.”
“Perhaps a few. I pushed the funeral up a day, or I’d have no hope of anyone coming at all.”
Kate shifted uncomfortably around in her chair. “Why’s that?”
Aunt Emma put her finger where she left off reading. “There’s a pig-picking Saturday afternoon with music and politicians, and what-all. The whole town will turn out. Perhaps I’ll go, too. Rose said they’ll have a soft-serve ice cream truck.”
Kate moved to the chair next to her aunt and sat down, yanking the short skirt of her black dress to its full length, as she aimed for modesty. The call telling Kate that Uncle Owen had died had come just as she loaded her last suitcase into the back of her Ford Explorer. She had dashed back into the house and grabbed something black to wear, only to realize later that her dresses ran more along the lines of cocktail party garb than proper mourning attire. She saved the plainer of the two dresses she’d brought for the funeral. Aunt Emma lent her a cardigan to help hide this one’s low neckline.
True to her aunt’s word, no one showed up for the viewing. An hour had passed, and they had another one yet to go. Kate wished her aunt had warned her earlier, or she had the foresight to bring a book, too.
Kate stared into the forest scene of one of the oil paintings decorating the small room, rubbing her thumb over the Celtic design on the ring adorning her index finger. Her mind wandered back to what had happened on Tuesday and the awkwardness of her goodbye as she left her husband. His decision, not hers.
“I need you to leave, for your own damned good,” Ryan had argued.
It had killed Kate to drive away. It was her place—no, her right to be by his side, supporting him. But he had said to go, and she was afraid of what he might do if she didn’t comply. Thank goodness the school year at John Adams High had wrapped up, and she’d already handed in her students’ final science grades. Thank goodness, Aunt Emma had welcomed her with open arms. And, of course, she owed a big thanks to Tim.
Just as his image bubbled up in her mind, Kate turned her head to see Detective Tim Gibbons walking toward her and Aunt Emma.
Aunt Emma was on her feet, opening her hands to welcome him. “How kind of you to stop by tonight,” she said.
“How are you holding up, Mrs. Jenkins?”
“Kate’s here,” Aunt Emma gestured in her direction as Kate came to her feet. “She’s such a blessing. I was so glad when she decided to visit for the summer. And then this happened.” Aunt Emma fingered her cross pendant. “I can’t say this will make her stay any worse, though. I expect it might improve it considerable with Owen gone.”
Tim nodded, “He was a hard man to like, but you stayed with him—it speaks of the depth of your love.”
Aunt Emma reached out and grasped Tim’s forearm, her serenity crumbling. “Some men, they lost their legs or their sight in the war. Owen lost his goodness. He came out of the war crippled and broken. His ugliness was not his fault.”
Shame and resentment washed over Kate. As horrible as Uncle Owen had been, he never threw her aunt out. Kate rubbed her hand over her aunt’s back, her gaze fastened on Tim.
Tim was taller than he had been in high school. The laugh lines that crinkled the corners of his eyes when they were younger now permanently etched his tanned skin. The fifteen years that she’d lived in Boston hadn’t changed him much. He looked good. And that was trouble. Kate knew it as sure as she knew that the next thing he’d say would be…
“Look at you, Katydid.”
“Not much to see.” She dragged a smile into place and pulled the cardigan tighter around her body.
“Boston agrees with you.”
“It does indeed.” Kate nodded.
“Well, welcome home. Glad to have your help at the police station. Though it’s not much of a place to do a CSI internship. You’re going to end up bored.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “We still roll up the sidewalks come dark.”
“Good. I could use a little boredom.” As soon as the words popped out of her mouth, Kate regretted them. Her troubles weren’t meant for public consumption.
Tim’s gaze locked on hers. He seemed to reach right in and pry her secrets loose. As the lead detective on the small-town police force, Kate imagined Detective Tim Gibbons had honed his dowsing skills—sharpened his people-reading acuity. It was a skill Kate loved about him. One of the many things she’d loved about him. But it felt invasive in this moment, and Kate took a step back.
“Where’s Pam?” Aunt Emma asked.
Tim pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “She’s home with the boys tonight. Billy has a fever from his new tooth.” He grinned at the picture of his family he held out for them to see.
“Oh, they’re beautiful, Tim,” Aunt Emma gushed. “Your eldest is getting so big. He looks the spitting image of his daddy.”
A movement from the doorway caught Kate’s attention. “Good evening,” she said to the man standing there.
Aunt Emma glanced around. “Doctor Javarti, thank you for coming. Let me introduce you to my niece.”
Tim gave Aunt Emma a light kiss on her cheek. “I’m on duty. I need to head on now. Kate.” He nodded in acknowledgment, shook hands with the new man, and left.
“Kate, I’d like you to meet the physician who tried to save your Uncle Owen, Dr. Omid Javarti.”
“My condolences,” he said to Kate, then focused his attention on Aunt Emma. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Jenkins. But your husband has found peace. After so many years of torment, he’s at rest.”
Kate detected the smallest accent in Omid’s English. The way he stood and the European cut of his suit—which she was much more likely to see in her adopted home of Boston than in southwest Virginia—made Kate wonder how this cosmopolitan man had found his way to Scarborough.
“That’s very kind,” Aunt Emma said. “Owen just wouldn’t listen to good reason. Never would follow his doctor’s orders. We both knew he was risking a heart attack.”
To Kate’s surprise, her aunt pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. Had Kate been married to someone like Owen, she would be celebrating. Upon hearing the news, Kate’s first thought was that Uncle Owen dying of a heart attack was irony at its best. Most folks swore the man was heartless.
“Even so, a sudden loss can shock the system,” Dr. Javarti said. “Please tell me if you need anything in the next days or weeks—something to help you sleep or to deal with any anxiety or depression.” He and Aunt Emma walked to the casket. Aunt Emma touched the handkerchief to her eyes, and Kate realized her aunt was crying. Kate was ashamed of her flippancy. She knew better.
Chapter Two
Even with the funeral planned for early morning, the bright rays of sunshine hammered the top of Kate’s head.
Kate glanced around at the guests. They were dressed for a garden party in bright floral sundresses. Though Kate noticed, a few people wore shorts as if Uncle Owen’s funeral was their first stop on errands’ day, and they’d be heading over to the Quick-Pick Groceries after the service. The guests smiled and gossiped. There wasn’t a sad face amongst them.
Aunt Emma and Kate were the only ones in black. Kate’s silk dress clung to her thighs as the humidity rose. Kate had tugged off the cardigan her aunt had lent her when they left the air-conditioned comfort of the sanctuary. There she stood, dressed as if for a Friday night martini with the girls, listening to the preacher chanting from the Book of Common Prayer, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”
Kate looked over her shoulder in time to receive Doris Arthur’s wilting stare.
“Stay away from Doris if you can help it,” her aunt whispered in her ear. “If those looks were daggers, you’d keel over dead and share the grave with your uncle.”
“Why? What did I ever do to her?”
“Let’s talk about it when we get home. We don’t need the gossips revved up, and Sally Jo can read lips.” Aunt Emma grasped at Kate’s hand.
The preacher ended his words of compassion and nodded toward Aunt Emma.
An acolyte stood with a spade in hand. He stretched it out to them.
Aunt Emma leaned heavily on Kate as they stepped forward.
It wasn’t until after Aunt Emma placed the first shovelful of dirt over the coffin that the finality of Owen’s death hit Kate. Not that she’d miss him, but what about her aunt? Would she be okay?
Stepping to the side, Kate led her aunt back to the assembly room. Opening the door, a blast of air-conditioned air brought them immediate relief from the heat and humidity.
The buzz from Kate’s phone in her pocket stopped her progress. After a quick peek at the screen, she halted. “Aunt Emma, I’ll be there in a minute. I’m going to the garden to take this call.”
***
Kate emerged from under the tree, her cell phone still in her hand. She bent and used the hem of her dress to wipe away the last of her tears. When she stood up, she found Tim standing in front of her, his hands resting lightly on his hips. He took in her appearance but refrained from comment until they reached the church.
“Why don’t you slide in here?” he asked. “It goes to Reverend Pine’s office, and he has a bathroom. You might want a minute to yourself to freshen up.” He pushed the door open but didn’t follow her.
One glance in the mirror told Kate why Tim had shepherded her away. Red splotches ringed her eyes, her mascara ran to her chin, her hair was a mess of humid curls, and sticktights covered her fanny. She was a wreck—inside and out. She pulled herself together as best she could.
When Kate emerged from the bathroom, she held her head high as she headed back out the side door to find Tim, leaning against the brick divider with his hands shoved in his pockets.
He swept his gaze over her. “You’ll be okay. People will chalk it up to grief, though they’ll wonder why.” He pushed off the wall. “I came by to get you because I’m heading over to a crime scene. I’d appreciate your help. Officer Mandrel, who has the most experience with CSI, is on his honeymoon.”
I turned my head toward the church doors.
He followed my line of sight. “You’re not supposed to start ‘til Monday. Your aunt may need you. You can say no.”
“Let me check on my aunt and make sure she’s okay. Then, should I follow you?”
He looked out toward the parking lot. “Let’s leave your Explorer with Mrs. Jenkins. I’ve got a squad car. They’re bringing in the forensics van now, so you’ll have supplies.” Tim moved toward his car as Kate climbed the granite stairs.
Back in the assembly hall, Kate grabbed a plastic cup of ice-cold lemonade and chugged it down in one gulp. Most everyone had left. There were a few ladies, dawdling over the ham biscuit tray. Doris was one of them. She glared at Kate, her toe was tapping and her hands resting on her hips. She was clearly vexed about something,
Kate sent the woman a bewildered glance, then found her aunt and explained Tim’s request. “Would you be okay if I left?”
“It’s fine, dear. Rose is going home with me, so I’ll have company.”
The heat of the day wrapped itself around Kate as she pushed through the heavy wooden doors. She had forgotten the extremes of southern temperatures. Outside, it was a screen door away from hell. Inside, it was iceberg-cold with multiple air units cranked to their highest settings—butter in a skillet. Kate mused as she tiptoed across the graveled parking lot to keep her high heels from sinking into the stones. Thankfully, Tim had the engine running in the car, and the interior was plenty cool as she slid into the passenger’s seat. Hot then cold, hot then cold—as a child, it hadn’t fazed her, but she’d lost her acclimatizing skills, and the sudden shifts left Kate nauseated.
“You okay?” Tim asked.
“Is there time for us to run by my house so I can get changed?”
Tim glanced at her shoes. “We’ll have to. You can’t go into a crime scene in heels. You’re bound to fall over and destroy evidence.” He sent her a smile, but the corners of his mouth remained grim.
Kate’s scalp itched with apprehension.
“You’ve got to make it quick. As soon as hazmat gives us the all-clear, we need to be ready to go.”
“Hazmat?” Kate’s voice squeaked.
“Just a precaution.”
They drove through town toward the river. As he pulled onto the highway, Tim said, “I’m assuming those tears weren’t for your uncle.”
“No.” She brushed at imaginary lint on her skirt. “I can’t say I’m sorry that Uncle Owen’s gone.”
Tim reached over the seat, produced a bottle of water from a cooler on the back floorboard, and handed it to Kate. “How’s everything in Boston?”
Kate rolled the bottle across her forehead and the back of her neck before taking a swig. “I’ll tell you what, how about you brief me on the crime scene instead?”
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